Angels of War (Angels of War Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  People broke for the two exit doors. His security team did not go far as he ordered. The two men moved through the crowd, weapons drawn as he dashed towards them.

  Hate dove at Wallace’s legs and tripped him. The president fell to the waxed linoleum floor. The shadow twisted. Through its blackness ribs shown along with a worm eaten face. A sword appeared in its hands as Blood Lust, Anger, and War Monger appeared above President Raymond Wallace. Wallace struggled, splayed on the floor like a goat ready for slaughter.

  Wallace tried to rise. The Four Shadows held him down with cold hands. His stomach burned with fear, bitter bile clogged his throat. The one who tripped him lifted a rusty sword over his head. The security team pointed their weapons and fired rounds into the phantoms pressing their dark presence against the president.

  “Hate.”

  The shape shifter paused, blade held over its formless head, ready to strike down the president. Joan appeared near the guards who ceased their gunfire. Hate glared at Joan with brilliant red eyes.

  Anger reached out with a distorted hand and touched Hate’s arm. The demon turned towards its comrade. Anger shook its head as a skull with empty eye sockets appeared from Anger’s shrouded face. Hate recoiled from Anger’s touch.

  Joan sat in an office lost amongst the files Wallace gave her to read. She sensed the unclean spirits come from underneath the earth like rats. She fled the office once the first screams reached her. Papers scattered in her wake. She used her angelic powers to penetrate the titanium walls and floors to arrive at the scene. She found President Wallace sprawled on the floor held down by the Four Shadows.

  Joan remembered the Shadows. Once guardian angels, they took sides with Lucifer, and she sent their evil souls to Hell with her blade. The Shadows stood before her, deformed and twisted. Hate held his sword high above Wallace’s head, his red eyes burning in fury at her appearance.

  “Hate, what glory will you achieve in killing a simple mortal? For the one who sent you to Hell is standing before you,” she said.

  Joan opened her hand. Her sword flashed into her tiny palm. Her complete armor covered her body. She would not fight these four in street clothes. She survived the first gamble with Lord Goth by skill and a little luck. She gave Hate a wink.

  Hate, overcome by anger and hurt pride, moved from President Wallace’s body on the floor. War Monger, Blood Lust, and Anger released their grip on Wallace and followed their leader into combat.

  Joan baited the four assassins. Hate readied his sword. The other three drew their blades and floated through tables and chairs to approach the angel. The Secret Service agents dashed to Wallace and plucked him from the floor and hauled their precious cargo from the fight.

  Joan shoved aside a table covered in plates. Drinks and food splashed across the floor. The material world did not concern the enemy she faced. They owned the ability to pass through all solid objects except for her blessed sword.

  Hate pointed his blade at her. He floated ahead. The other three Shadows flanked her in silence. The world around her became bright. Her heartbeat quickened. The four assassins closed in as she lifted her angelic blade.

  Joan remained calm as Hate approached with his blade held steady. His dark form undulated to reveal his horrible body covered by the shadow he wore like a cloak.

  The phantom Anger attacked from Joan’s left. She came down with her sword, blocked his upward cut, and slipped from between the two wraiths. Hate attacked from her right. His sword blow aimed for Joan’s head missed and he cut through empty air.

  Joan dove into the battle. She fought with speed and calmness. She kicked the furniture aside, blocked their sword blows as they weaved within one another in a furious effort to cut her down.

  Joan began to breathe hard. Sweat broke her forehead. Not big and clumsy like Lord Goth. The Four Shadows, strong and fast, fought with a dark power she found bothersome. At each stroke their blades inched closer to her neck and head. Hate’s blade struck her helmet and glanced off with a dull ping, her white horsehair plume danced.

  She struck the blow away with her own sword, jogged to her left as War Monger delivered a quick thrust towards her mid section. She decapitated the black spirit. He fell and dispersed against the shiny linoleum floor like smoke.

  Hate, Anger, and Blood Lust did not miss a beat as their comrade’s form hurried back to the dark place from where he came. The three attacked with relentless speed and fury.

  Joan shoved Blood Lust aside, sliced off Anger’s sword arm followed by a clean decapitating cut. Hate struck an overhand blow and she ducked. His blade carved a deep line along the wall behind her.

  Joan spun away from the wall, glanced to her right. Hate drew back his sword, Blood Lust moved in from her left. Both shape shifters cornered her against the wall and moved in for the kill.

  Joan set her jaw. “Hate, do you wish to die here or send your master a message?”

  Hate froze in mid attack. A force erupted from his body. Chairs and tables flipped and smashed against the walls and floor. “The only message I’ll send my master is your head. You and your kind will die, Joan. Unless you join us, this is the message from my master.”

  A sneer played over Joan’s small mouth. She leaped forward and decapitated them both. “My only message for your master.” She gazed up from her work. To her surprise, Wallace remained at the cafeteria doorway surrounded by his men.

  “I believe you now, Joan. Please forgive me,” he said. His voice trembled. His white shirt clung to his body from sweat.

  Joan sheathed her sword. “No need for apologies, Raymond,” Joan said. For now on, she would stay close to the president as much as possible. Temeculus moved twice against them. She doubted he would fail a third time.

  25

  General Temeculus walked out upon his patio angered at the failed assassination attempt on Wallace. He shoved the thought aside for the moment and gazed at the scenery set before his eyes. Below him, in block formation stood his ghoulish troops. Beyond his army, several thousand mortal souls gathered. A mass too exhausted to flee, battered by shock and awe the fresh war brought into their lives.

  Temeculus leaped from his balcony. His monstrous bat wings spread out from his muscled back as he soared towards the destroyed city below. He drew his bloodstained sword and landed on his heavy booted feet. The Black Army lifted their weapons into the air and chanted his name. Their collected voices echoing against the broken buildings to resonate into a horrific roar.

  “Temeculus! Temeculus!”

  General Temeculus strutted forward. A smile played his morbid dead-white face as he moved between the ranks shouting his name. They thirsted for more war and blood. He needed a human army, an army to fill his ranks in Hell with fresh souls.

  “How many of you wish to live forever? Wish to never die and enjoy eternal life.” He halted before the multitudes. His army performed a crisp about face and presented themselves before the nervous throng.

  General Temeculus held his sword in one big hand. “This is the Second Coming, so where is your God?” He lifted his sword and the soldiers fell silent.

  “You will suffer your eternity in Hell, devil.” A voice shouted from the vast crowd.

  Temeculus smiled. He jammed the wicked blade into the scabbard at his side made from dried human skins. A young raggedy man emerged from the crowd with a Bible held tight in his right hand. Sweat poured from his red face as the people around him eased away.

  “So where is He?” Temeculus leaned his huge head forward. “Why are you still here, sir? Why the faithful are not floating up into the heavens to be wrapped in His loving bosom? Did He not make those promises in the fairytale you hold so tight in your trembling hand?”

  The man’s face twisted in anger. “God will judge you one day demon. Go back to Hell from where you spawned. Do you think, even consider for a moment, He will let you get away with this…this abomination you created? How dare you.”

  Temeculus strolled forward. The bystande
rs slinked further back from the young man. “This is the Second Coming. Reread your bed time story, pour through those brittle pages with more intent.”

  “This is not the Second Coming. You would not be standing so high and mighty if Jesus condemned you at this moment. You would be on your knees. Defeated, and preparing to be tossed into the pit of Hell with the dragon.”

  General Temeculus threw his head back and laughed. A dangerous animal growl rolled from underneath his dark voice. The nine-foot giant drew closer to the man. If he recruited souls this dedicated to Satan, the war would be over in a week. Too bad the Bible thumper worked for the opposition.

  “Listen to him?” His voice traveled across the thousands who filled the ruined city. “He’s a brave soul filled with so much faith. God is lucky to own a soul like this one.”

  Temeculus lifted his head towards the dark skies. Black smoke continued to roil overhead. The Screamers remained silent, their obsidian eyes lost in oblivion. “Did you witness the angels fighting and running from us? We defeated your army, and still you stand here holding a Bible. Telling me, Satan’s second in command, I will be thrown into Hell’s pit along with my boss. Sounds like fun to me, Hell is not so bad. Lots of sex, drugs, and rap music.”

  The general guffawed and slapped his thigh and changed form. He turned into a Midwest farmer. His size decreased to five-foot ten. He wore a black Stetson hat, a white cowboy shirt, sun faded Wrangler jeans, and worn black boots. He reached to the ground, picked up a straw, and popped the slender stalk between his thin lips. His once pale skin turned to a sun beaten red, his eyes browned.

  “Why don’t we start being reasonable, partner?” His voice took on a Texas drawl. He turned back, waved his hand and his army vanished. “Is this better?”

  He hooked his thumbs into his jeans front pockets and worked the straw between his dry lips and white even teeth. “All this dying and destruction can be avoided.” He turned a gentle gaze to the young man. People started to inch towards him. Good.

  The man thrust his Bible towards Temeculus. “Here, the words of God are written blasphemer. Demon, return to your home.” The man spat. The spittle landed against the general’s sallow cheek and sizzled down his face.

  Temeculus’s jaw muscles twitched, a burn rose in his stomach, heartburn times ten. His face glowed a fire engine red. God stood on this man’s side, he needed to stop him before the pain became too powerful and dropped him to his knees. He reached out with one large hand and touched the man’s right cheek. “Brave,” he said.

  He snapped his thin neck. The body jerked once and fell to the street. The people stood their ground, riveted and silent. The fiery pain subsided in his belly, the inhuman red glow on his face diminished. The Bible beater’s soul slid from the corpse and gave Temeculus a confident grin before a guardian angel floated down from the sky and swept him away.

  Temeculus walked over to a battered car, leaned against the crumpled hood and folded his arms. He moved the straw about in his mouth. “Do you all disagree with what he said to me?” The crowd mumbled amongst themselves. Some said no, some said yes, some remained silent and stared at him in wide-eyed terror.

  “I don’t want any of you to fear me.” He relaxed his arms at his sides. “Yes, I snapped this young man’s neck. Forget what I did. I am trying to prove something to him and to you all here,” he said.

  He pointed at the body on the ground. “Arise and breathe my child.” He ambled forward slow and bow-legged to approach the skittish crowd mesmerized by his words. “Arise and breathe.”

  The demon Ekliar, invisible to others, but not to his master entered the young man’s dead body. The body twitched on the ground. His chest heaved and his arms moved about. His eyes blinked open and he coughed, sat up and stood to his feet. People moved in closer, some hesitant at the sight before their eyes.

  Temeculus delivered a beautiful smile. “Don’t hesitate. Please. Come closer. In fact, each of you in this crowd, I want you to walk by him and touch him. Speak to him and understand he is real. God in Heaven did not do this. My father in Hell did this through me.” The masses moved closer to touch the young man who smiled.

  Temeculus stood back. “What is your name?”

  The young man turned to face the general. “My name is Rodger, lord,” he said. “I dedicate my life to you and my one and only true delivery from death.” He knelt before Temeculus, bowed his head, and stretched out on the ground flat before him.

  “Rise and face the crowd, Rodger.”

  Rodger rose and turned to the crowd. “Where is God? He is in Heaven, protected by His gates and His angels. He left us here to die. I died and God refused me and sent me to Hell. In Hell I beheld my father’s house. I walked through castles and mansions of gold, no one starved in my true father’s house.”

  He pointed towards the open Bible on the ground, its thin pages fluttering in the cold wind. “Don’t believe what is written in the Bible, a centuries old relic filled with lies. Satan is the only truth and I am his proof.”

  Rodger turned to Temeculus, back to the frightened masses. “Join me. Join us to deliver this world into the light. Let Satan take away your pain, your sorrow. Imagine a world with no more death. Come. Come.”

  The general placed a hand on Roger’s shoulder. He pressed a spatulate left thumb against his forehead and burned the number sixty-six into the skin. “For those wishing to follow me, you must take this number. You only get two until Satan reaches this planet. Reaches here and take away your fears and pain. Lord Lucifer will deliver you the third and final number. The final six. The Bible is wrong. This is the number of life,” he said and pointed a thick finger at the sixty-six burned into Rodger’s forehead.

  “This will show your allegiance to the true father of man. Come and pledge yourselves now, or get from my sight.”

  People approached. At first by ones and soon in groups, families, and church congregations clotted the line to stand before Temeculus. On each one, he shoved his thumb against their forehead and seared two sixes into their skin.

  He created an army, fifty thousand souls eager to do Satan’s work on earth. The human army occupied Los Angeles and more murder began. The supplicants killed those who refused the mark, and they died by the thousands.

  Temeculus returned to his true form. He stretched his black leathery wings from behind him and took flight. He returned to the balcony to witness the chaos and murder below him. His army grew as darkness settled over the city. A fiendish smile played upon his face.

  Black Angel walked from Hell’s Cathedral to stand by her master’s side. “General, the plan unfolds like you envisioned.”

  Temeculus slid a hand around the she-devil’s slender waist. “Joan is here. She is a problem I did not foresee. Black Angel, I need you to find the Key and bring her here to Hell’s Cathedral.”

  Black Angel gave the general a slight bow. She leaped into the air. With sword in hand she rounded up a few undead Roman cavalry. The small group rallied around her and took off into the bleak skies.

  “Now, time to destroy them all.” He raised his hands into the air. “Victory shall be yours, Satan.”

  26

  Maria Erella Gonzalez sat in her living room with her Bible in hand. The voice in her head settled down to a whisper and soon ceased. Within an hour after the voice stopped she no longer questioned her sanity.

  A beautiful song carried on the wind reached the closed window across the room she read her Bible in. Her grandmother walked from the kitchen and opened the living room window. The sweet song floated in like a sparrow and played on the warm night air.

  “Angels are singing,” the old woman said in Spanish.

  Maria set her Bible aside and stood from her chair to join her grandmother at the window. The music reached her ears strong and clear. Each note floated carefree like colorful butterflies at her ears. She discovered where the sweet voice came from, and like a key, each note unlocked the mystery in her head. She did not comprehend why, a
door within her mind needed to open.

  This door stood heavy and old, shrouded in cobwebs and dusty memories. The delicate song moved the rusted tumblers within the lock and did more work on her mind than the voice tried to do for the past ten hours.

  Maria sensed the world underneath her feet and around her in a way she never experienced before. A cricket in her backyard rubbed its legs to create a high musical chirp. The insect sat perched on the balcony railing outside. She caught her grandmother’s heart drum out its irregular beats. Voices from several choirs in the cathedrals along dusty roads slipped through the window.

  She picked out each person’s voice in the choir as if the singer stood next her. She sensed a little girl at a window in a small house, her voice powerful.

  Maria rushed from the window and to the balcony. Her lungs tightened and expanded with air. Mexico City sat below the hill she lived on, vibrant and unaware. Her eyes watered and her heart filled with a strong love for humanity. An urge to protect echoed in her soul and became a huge torrent.

  She approached the black rail. Her thighs trembling. Below her sat hills and small towns dotted with dreamy lights. She sensed where the girl stood at the window. A strong urge to save the child came over her. Maria grabbed the rail with one hand and vaulted over the edge and into the thick woods fifty feet below.

  Maria landed on the soft ground, startled by what occurred. She gazed up through the tangled vines and thick tree trunks above her. For a few seconds she stared at the balcony’s underside. The voice in her head returned with an inarticulate scream. Maria caught the urgency in the voice.

  She pushed aside her amazement and plunged into the woods before her. Bloody scratches scoured her face and arms as she drove headlong through the brush. The girl’s voice hooked her and an invisible line yanked Maria to the house.